


Coming Up Roses

by Bonfoi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe, Bottom!Remus, F/M, Gift Fic, HP: EWE, M/M, Multi, Post Second Voldemort War, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-16
Updated: 2012-12-16
Packaged: 2017-11-21 07:05:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/594871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bonfoi/pseuds/Bonfoi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war’s never really over if the bad guys keep on fighting.  The Order of the Phoenix has finally gotten the last of the Death Eaters in their sights and within their grasp!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Up Roses

**Author's Note:**

> Slightly OoC!Snape; Allusions to canon characters; Misuse of Weasleys; Swearing; Desk!Sex; Dirty Talk; Bottom!Remus; A touch of het (not obvious); An allusion from "The Princess Bride" 
> 
> **A/N:** This was a get well gift!fic for Real_life_Rosy. I think it made her smile!

* * *

The Order of the Phoenix has allies in places most people would want to hold their breaths. And some, where only shadowy figures dare go!

§¤§¤*§*¤§¤§ 

**_ Disclaimer:_ ** The world of Harry Potter, its characters and settings are the copyrighted works of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., her publishing companies and affiliates. No profit was made from the writing of this story nor was any malice intended in any way, shape or form to the author or the actors/actresses who so brilliantly have brought them to life. 

This author is not responsible for underage readers. Please observe the ratings, warnings, and age of legal consent for your country.

§¤§¤*§*¤§¤§ 

The goats had gotten out again!

Luckily, this time they’d only gotten into the Muggle garden, eating the tomatoes and the raspberry canes. It was unfortunate that they’d also eaten the hinges off the gate they’d broken on their way in. Mr. Principe wasn’t going to like it!

George shook his head and turned back toward the house, his feet dragging in the dry dirt of the yard. Sometimes, he wondered if it had all been a dream: having a brother, a twin; owning a business that made people laugh; even Luna Lovegood’s pale, soft lips when they kissed under the mistletoe the last Christmas he’d lived…lived…. The redhead with the dashing eye-patch shook his head again as he whistled for the dogs to root out the goats.

In the forest, another man—this one bent and bruised—swayed against a tree, disbelieving what he saw. When the youth at his back gasped, he knew it wasn’t a delirious vision. He turned his head, the scars on his neck making it awkward and painful. “No running off to play house, Potter!” he hissed. “We’ve got to make certain it’s him.”

Potter grabbed the man’s shoulder and twisted him around until he could put an arm around a waist thinner and more bony than his own. “You always were a hard man, Snape,” he mumbled. “Let’s get back to the caravan before the hunters come back.”

Behind them, in the quaint, comfortable garden, George stared at the trees and rubbed the back of his neck. For an instant—just the barest of moments—he thought he’d heard Severus Snape’s voice.

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Mr. Principe wasn’t so much angry as annoyed. The damned goats had been breaking out more often, ruining each and every gate between them and the gardens. “I run a reputable nursery here, Weems! Get control of those goats or I’ll be looking for a new goatherd and a new herd!” The man’s Italian roots showed as he pointed dramatically toward the open door, his left foot tapping impatiently.

George grinned and nodded. The threat was a familiar one, having been said for the past month. Principe wouldn’t sack George, not really, just move him to one of the other nurseries and forget about him for a month or so and then move him back.

“What’s in the new fertilizer?” he asked. “I’ve gone over everything: seeds, rootings, and transplants. None of them shows anything that would put the goats in a frenzy. So, what’s in the new fertilizer?” George asked again, this time staring at Principe’s paling cheeks.

“Nuh-nothing. I got it from Cheapside, just like always.” For once, Mr. Principe wouldn’t meet George’s eyes. “Not the regular supplier, but he gets it from the same source, heh?” Suddenly, Principe folded into himself and groaned before falling into his chair.

“Sir?”

“Always knew I’d played it too fine…” Principe muttered. He huffed and then looked up at George. “I know who you are, lad, have for the last year or so. Never told you ‘cuz I figured a lad like you had your reasons, an’ who was I to feed you to the wolves?”

“What do you mean?” George wondered how a question about fertilizer had become a confession about…George. “I’m from Paisley-on-Wye. Mum’s a knitter, knits at the drop of a pin, really. Got a sister and a pa. I’m nobody special.” _But I was once,_ he hears in his head.

Mr. Principe stared at his fingers and began talking. “You’re George Weasley, of Weasley Wizarding Wheezes. You’re a Light Wizard, lad, and a good ‘un, too. Had a brother, Fred. I liked Fred.” The old man looked up—and George swore he could see Albus Dumbledore twinkling out of those faded eyes. “Both of you terrors made Hogwarts Castle a wonderful place to be a mischief-maker.”

“But you want to know why fertilizer makes me talk about you, don’t you?” Mr. Principe opened his desk, pulled out his wand and muttered an obscure, very difficult-to-replicate Transfiguration spell. His face melted a bit and then solidified. George stared into Draco Malfoy’s eyes, his own jaw dropping in slow motion.

Malfoy leaned back with a sigh, the clothes too baggy on his youthful frame, like a child playing make-believe with Da’s clothes. “You landed in my lap during the Battle of Hogwarts. I turned you over to Potter and ran, very far, very fast. Unfortunately, Father’s associates have a long reach and vicious, small minds. They found me, but not before Potter and you came bursting in and saved me.”

“What you Gryffindors lack in conniving, you make up for in sheer bravado that you can actually back up!” Malfoy grinned and then sobered once more. “Anyhow, the fertilizer comes from a site Father set up years ago to hold magical _contraband_ creatures. After being saved, I went underground. I’ve been trying to use the deliveries to send and receive information on Dark wizards and witches. I mean, the system was already in place…” He spread his hands in a pleading gesture.

George moved over to the chair in front of the desk and flopped onto the seat ungracefully. “So how did I end up here? I-I remember some…” He shook his head, a buzzing haziness filling it as he tried to concentrate. “I don’t remember anything clearly.”

“Found you in an empty van one day. Looked like you’d been chewed up and spit out by a gryphon. I pay my Life Debts, Weasley, so I took you to Doctor Zabini—Blaise’s unlamented, but well-hidden father—swore him to secrecy, which wasn’t very difficult, and then we gave you a new life.” Malfoy looked remarkably like a boy who’d been caught with a hand in the Christmas pudding when he glanced sidewise at George. “I was lonely, and you were…you were someone interesting from my former life, from a better part of it, anyway.”

“So I smelled like dung when you brought me here, and you put me to shoveling it for you?” George wasn’t a redhead for nothing and his temper was finally catching up and overcoming his shock. He jumped to his feet and banged both hands on the desk. “You bloody, ignorant wanker!” he shouted. “I had a life! I have-had-have a family!” George sputtered.

Malfoy was on his feet, shouting back. “I saved your oh-so-noble life, you arrogant son of a bitch! I couldn’t find Potter…or Granger…or any of the Weasleys for that matter!” The veins in Malfoy’s temples were throbbing, an angry pulsing that had his left eye twitching. “I couldn’t _give_ you back to anyone if I’d wanted to!”

Blinking, George backed away from the desk, his eyes wide, the pupils blown as he searched for the lie in Malfoy’s face. He’d only registered one thing: there hadn’t been any Weasleys to return him to!

The chair creaked as Malfoy sat back down, huffing as he reined in his temper. “You and I have been feeding the Light wizards prowling around Great Britain, doing the work that the Ministry hasn’t gotten around to.” He rubbed at his nose and closed his eyes. His voice was soft as he continued. “You and me, mate, and Ferd the house-elf, we’ve been keeping the Light side regular for the past year with magically-enhanced foods and potions ingredients.” Malfoy breathed through his nose and stared out the window.

“Each time we send out a van of plants, there’s information on Rookwood’s goons as well as the makings of Wolfsbane and blood replenishing potions and Skel-E-Grow liniments. You’ve been fighting the war—I just didn’t let you know it.”

The redhead’s one good eye was glacial as he glared. “Who’s your contact?” George asked in a raspy voice.

“I only know him as Desmond. Ferd meets him, gives him the passphrase and the location of the information.” Malfoy glanced up and then away. “I never asked for a bloody CV!” His hands flew and fluttered like the Italian he’d been playing for the past few years. “I just sent things along and Rookwood’s plans were ruined.”

George turned his back, feeling up his left sleeve for the wand he’d only recently begun using again. The urge to hex Malfoy blue with rancid pustules was fighting with the idea that the prat had actually cared enough about another human being, even a Weasley, to protect him so…so selflessly. His eye—the good one—burned with the need to cry, but he wasn’t about to drench his patch for anything less than tears of joy.

Back still to Malfoy, George spoke. “I’m going out to tend the goats. Next time Ferd goes to meet Desmond, I want to go with him.” He opened the door carefully, certain that if he gave in to his roiling emotions the doorknob would melt all over his hand, ruining it for days. Not to mention making it hard to fabricate new hinges for the gates.

{|}{|}{|}*{|}~|~{|}*{|}{|}{|}

George Weems looked like any Gulf War vet, a bit on the young side, but the army jacket Malfoy had conjured from somewhere helped with the impression and the crowd in Trafalgar Square flowed around him, barely noticing him, hiding him effectively in plain sight. Ferd, looking like a wizened old woman, huddled at his side, his big eyes hidden behind unflattering sunglasses on a blustery grey day.

When Ferd stiffened and tried to sidle away, George’s quick reflexes had him snagging the old dear by her scarves, saving her from a fall. No one paid any attention as the solicitous veteran helped the old lady down the stairs to the Tube station.

In the dark of the station, George bent down, straightening scarves and buttons. He hissed at the house-elf, “I’m here to see Desmond. Take me to him or you’ll find out just how much I know about _your_ magic!” Ferd nodded and led him away from the waiting crowd and into an alcove that was actually a hidden doorway to a wizard space in the walls of the tunnels.

George never felt the man move, but the wand under his chin could have been the thing making that a bit impossible at the moment. One second he was standing next to Ferd, then the next he was looking up at a ceiling, unwillingly counting the cracks in the tiles. “Can’t a bloke stumble into a clandestine meeting without everyone going barmy?” he quipped.

“George? George Weasley?” Suddenly, the wand was gone and there were arms wrapped around him. He tucked his chin down and found himself holding a sweet armful of soft blonde hair and curves in all the right places. “Oh, George, you’ve been considered as extinct as a Spotted Cheese Pixie.”

“Luna?” He turned her face up and kissed her, uncaring if it was poor prisoner etiquette or bad manners. He’d been dreaming about her for two years, never expecting to find her hidden underneath London’s streets.

“You might want to release my lieutenant, Weasley. I’ve a pressing need for those deceptively airy brains.” George pulled himself away, arms still locked around Luna Lovegood’s shoulders. He stared into the shadows from where the voice had come and saw a man—shaggy-chic sandy brown hair streaked with grey, strange bluish-amber eyes, and a small secretive smile—step forward into the miserable light.

“Professor Lupin? It’s you? It’s really you?” George remembered the wizard falling at the Battle of Hogwarts, he’d seen his dead body laid out, even attended the funeral. George let go of Luna and almost ran to hug the man before he realized there was another wand at his throat. “Uh, no offense, sir, but I’m getting awfully tired of getting poked and prodded by wands.”

“Tell me something, Weasley: how did the Marauder’s Map work?” Remus Lupin’s voice was soft, controlled, like it’d always been, but there was a sharp edge to it, and George scrambled to remember.

He grinned and rocked back on his heels. “ _I solemnly swear I am up to no good!_ ” He looked over his shoulder at Luna and missed something, some look, but when he turned back, the wand was gone and Lupin’s smile was wider, more open than before.

“Welcome back to the fold, you trickster!” Lupin said as he thumped George’s shoulder. “So…I won’t ask how you got here. Knowing Malfoy, he finally got the triggering phrase out of you and the whole story spilled out.” He looked around George and nodded sharply at Luna. “Lieutenant, get the information from Ferd, send Malfoy the latest news, and then meet us in the den.”

“Come with me, George. I’ve got some news for you.” Lupin stepped back into the shadows and George followed.

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Living in a Wizarding caravan with Severus Snape was not on Harry Potter’s list of lifetime desires. But he had to admit that the man knew how to turn turnips into something edible. Once they’d eaten—along with Ginny, Ron, and Charlie Weasley—he’d cleared the table and set the dishes to washing.

Snape sat down in his chair, wincing as the wrenched shoulder and bruised hip he’d gotten fighting—and subduing—McNair still pained him. Once he was settled, Ginny brought him a steaming cup of Earl Grey and sat at his side, a Dictaquill and scroll over her shoulder, both poised at the ready.

“We think we’ve found them.” The Weasleys—excluding Ginny who spent far too much time emulating Severus—shouted questions as Harry just shook his head and shuffled papers for five minutes. When a break in the noise occurred, Severus held up a hand, and it was magically silent. “There’s a nursery, both Muggle and Wizarding, over the hills to the west. We traced the magical signature to a tall redhead with an eye-patch.”

Staring at Charlie, Severus massaged his hip as he waited for the eldest son to control his siblings’ astonishment. It didn’t take more than a minute before he could speak again, this time beckoning Potter forward for substantiation.

“Snape’s right. It’s George. I’d recognize that walk anywhere, and the magic that flows off of him is just enough like Ron’s and Ginny’s to make me believe I’m right. The other man, the boss I think, he’s got a familiar signature too, but I think he’s on our side.” Harry licked his lips and shot a glance at Ginny—who studiously ignored him. “It’s familiar because I think it’s Draco Malfoy.”

Even Severus was surprised. He’d known that their mysterious benefactor of information and sustenance was familiar, but he hadn’t realized… “Just how _familiar_ is Mr. Malfoy’s magical signature, Potter?” Severus growled, his dark eyes sharp as a finely-honed knife.

“Not going to say, but all those years in Hogwarts, all the duels and hexes, you get to know a bloke’s magic, okay?” Harry raked his hand through his messy hair and stared over everyone’s heads as Ginny snorted at Snape’s side. “It was just one night, Ginny, leave it be!” he begged when he couldn’t take it any longer.

Laughter filled the caravan, clearing the air, and lightening the mood. Charlie leaned forward. “Now that we know who feeds us the information—”

“And the food! Don’t forget the food!” Ron interjected. “We wouldn’t be here without the food. Good strategy to keep the army fed.” When Severus’ piercing eyes skewered him, Ron’s mouth flapped silently for a few seconds and then closed with a snap.

“Ronald, I often wonder how you survived so long.” Severus rolled his eyes. “Continue, Charles.”

Charlie grinned and nodded his thanks. “We know Rookwood and his cronies are getting desperate, and hungry. Somehow or other, Malfoy and _his_ syndicate have been poisoning the other side’s food supply, making our jobs easier. What I want to know is if this is the final push or not? We’ve been at this since war’s end and I’d like to sleep at the Burrow once again, and soon.” His siblings nodded, Ginny leaning forward to make certain Severus saw her head moving too.

“Desmond sent a message that things were moving toward the end.” Severus winced and then rested his head on the chair’s top rail. He spoke with his eyes closed. “You aren’t the only ones wrenched from those you love and admire, Charles. I too…” Severus pinched his lips and swallowed the words.

Harry saw the man’s hand twitching and motioned for Ginny and Ron to get up. They nodded and left as quietly as they could, the Dictaquill and scroll floating over Ginny’s shoulder and then into her satchel just before the caravan door closed behind them. “Sir? Severus?” Harry called softly.

“I can hear you quite well, Potter. You didn’t need to send the others away. They could have asked their own questions.” Snape’s voice was thready and Charlie was pushing at his robes, opening them to see the wrenched shoulder had slipped down and over Severus’ lung, pressing on it.

Taking a deep breath through his nose, Charlie looked up at Harry. “I need you to go to Malfoy’s place, Harry. We’re going to need some of those fresh potions ingredients and a brewer if we’re going to heal this damage. I’ve seen dragons gasping for breath when something like this happens. It’s only a matter of time before things get worse.” Severus tried to stop him, but the younger man lifted him—with what gentleness he could—from the chair and then laid him on the divan. Charlie stood up with a scowl that could have been borrowed from Snape. “Go on, Harry!” he growled.

Harry was out the door and running through the woods, transforming into a black fox to make it easier. He broke through the tree-line and kept going even when Malfoy’s wards tugged at him. He nipped and snarled at the unseen magic until he was past it and in the nursery yard. Nose to the ground, Harry sorted through the scents until he found the most predominant, _human_ , one and followed it toward the office.

As he approached the building, Harry slunk toward the shadows, blending in as he let his magic and his vulpine senses give him information. Once he was certain only Malfoy was inside, Harry transformed back, self-consciously patting at himself to assure himself his clothes had made the transition this time. He climbed the stairs and knocked softly, listening for…

“Oh, bloody hell! It’s the damned Saviour,” Malfoy drawled from behind Harry. Harry rolled his eyes and then grimaced, if Malfoy didn’t kill him, Snape would when he recovered. “Well? Open the door, you dunderhead. It’s what you were going to do, wasn’t it?”

They entered the office single file, Malfoy’s wand at Harry’s back. Door closed and Warded behind them, Draco put his wand away, already certain that it was the real Harry Potter glaring at him as the air was literally crackling with power—almost reassuring in a way. “So, to what do I owe this inept visit? Got lost? Fell off your broom over Limington?” Malfoy smirked. His voice dropped to a purr. “Found out that one night wasn’t enough?” Somehow, that last bit wasn’t a taunt.

Harry filed the question away for later and began reeling off their potion needs, then he mentioned Severus’ name and suddenly, he was caught in a Malfoy whirlwind of activity. Fresh bundles of angelica, fennel, wyvern’s root and chamomile flew into a convenient satchel as Draco wrenched open a cabinet and grabbed several flasks of neutral potion bases. Once everything was packed, he turned to Harry and pointed with his chin. “All right then, Potter. Lead on.”

“You can give me the stuff, Malfoy, Sev—”

“Really? You want me to believe you know how to handle wyvern’s root? How to enhance the subtle healing of chamomile? You’ve been sniffing broom bristles for too long if you think I’m trusting you to save Severus Snape!” Draco hugged the satchel to his chest, wand twitching against the leather.

Harry threw his hands up in the air. “Fine! Fine! Who am I to turn down your generous offer? Why, I’ve just been fighting Death Eaters my whole life! What do I know about taking care of allies? What do—”

Draco interrupted him by setting the satchel on the desk and grabbing him close enough to snog the breath out of him. When Harry stopped ranting and wrapped his arms around Draco, Malfoy stepped back with a dazed look on his face.

“We’re coming back to that, Potter, or I’ll hex you girly. But now we’ve got to heal Professor Snape.” Draco grabbed the satchel from the desk and hustled Harry out into the night. “Can we Apparate to where we need to go?” Harry nodded and wrapped his arms around Draco and the precious satchel.

The goats in the pen chewed on their new gate until it fell to the ground. One writhed a bit in its skin and became a lovely woman with greying braids that looked remarkable like swirled horns. She stepped over the gate, put it back, and then cast a ward particular to goat pens. She held her wand up and revealed a leather collar and grinned as she said, “Hog’s Head and home!” and tapped the Port-key. The goats went back to trying to find another way to escape.

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Severus was shaking, the injuries he’d received worse than he’d thought. He could have sworn Draco Malfoy was threatening bodily harm to Ronald for a few minutes before a warm poultice of wyvern’s root, chamomile, and comfrey was slapped onto his wrenched shoulder. When hands plucked at his trousers, he snarled, scrabbling for his wand, but then Ginevra was there, saying something in a soothing voice, reminding him of Lily.

The next morning dawned far too early for Severus’ taste, yet he knew it was inevitable. Then he realized he didn’t hurt deep within his bones, in fact, he barely felt a twinge in his hip or shoulder. Squinting in the dawn’s light—Potter had forgotten to draw the curtains again—he lifted up his blankets to see a thick poultice on his hip even as he felt the one on his shoulder shift aside.

“Good to see I haven’t forgotten all those lessons you taught me.” Draco sat at the table looking rumpled, but very pleased with his self. “Who knew Harry Potter could be an adequate potions assistant given time and proximity to Severus Snape?” he murmured. Severus thought he caught the faintest tinge of jealousy, but quickly dismissed it as he realized he was naked but for the poultices.

“Oh, don’t bother. Ginevra left the caravan as Charlie and Potter stripped you down. We didn’t want to scar her poor eyes, you know.” Draco sipped at Severus’ Earl Grey tea, smacking his lips as he swallowed. “Ah, I’ve missed this, your special brew. Always made one’s eyes pop with awareness.”

“I take it you’re on the Light’s side, Draco?” Severus asked. For the first time in a week he was feeling at charity with the world, and for that, he’d even be polite for five minutes. “And pass me a cuppa, will you? Thirsty work allowing you lot to save my arse.”

Malfoy chuckled. “You _have_ been roughing it with hooligans and Gryffindors, haven’t you?” He reached out and poured another cup of tea and then sent it wafting gently to Severus’ waiting hand. “Potter said you won’t be needing me soon.”

“Potter talks too much.” Severus blew on his tea and took a cautious sip. He swallowed and shimmied up higher on his pillows. “We know you’ve been a supplier of ours, Draco. We wanted to make certain you were safe as we tied up loose ends.” Severus drained his cup in a gulp, his cheeks heating as the still hot tea burned his tongue.

“So, what next?” Malfoy sounded detached and Severus felt that bit of irritating conscious he couldn’t get rid of rising up to the daylight. 

“You’ll become a very legitimate purveyor of potions ingredients and healthful foods, you dunderhead. You’ll find someone to keep your bed warm and your mind engaged.” Something tender flitted across Severus’ features before he continued. “You’ll learn to live without fighting.”

Draco pushed his empty cup away and crossed his arms on the table. “There’s still a great deal of Darkness out there, Severus.”

“And someone will take care of it. But even warriors get to…slow down.” Snape threw back his covers and then grabbed them back, forgetting for a second he was starkers. “Open that cupboard to your left and get me trousers, pants, and an undershirt.” Malfoy chuckled and got the clothes, tossing the pants at Severus’ head.

Before he dressed, Snape removed the poultices and then waved his wand over them. “Remarkable work, Mr. Malfoy. Ten points to Slytherin for creating such a remarkable drawing salve.” Severus looked up and caught the fleeting blush on Malfoy’s face. “You’ve got a gift. Don’t let it go to waste.”

“He won’t,” Potter said from the other side of the door. When it wouldn’t open, he hammered on it. “C’mon, Malfoy! Let me in, you prat!” Severus rolled his eyes and grabbed up his wand, releasing the locking spell.

Harry jerked the door open with a grin. “Sir, Desmond says everything is ready. We’re to meet him in the West End this evening. And he says to dress in our finest.” Harry glanced at Draco and then away. “I might need some help with that.”

Severus smirked but said nothing as Malfoy got up. “I’m here now, Potter. I’ll fix you lot up with something. Ferd has a whole cottage full of robes and dresses from the manor. I’m certain I can dress everyone, even that giant Weasley.” Harry’s grin brightened into a smile and he backed out of the doorway, gesturing for Malfoy to come out.

“What are we waiting for?” He reached up and tugged Draco through the door most indecorously, leaving Severus without company and breakfast.

“I thought you’d like some scones. Mum sent them last night.” Ginny stood in the doorway, a plate of currant scones and a dish of clotted cream on a platter in her hands. “Can’t let you fall flat on your face now that we’ve almost finished, can we?”

Severus sat at the table and ate, sharing his tea with his favorite Weasley while their camp awoke to a new day.

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Luna flipped her fine blonde hair back four times. George was getting frantic to touch the pale, perfect throat she kept revealing and concealing. Then, she looked over her shoulder and he was cutting through the theatre crowd, an arrow straight to her target. 

“You look lovely, Luna,” George whispered as he hugged her. He blessed the crowded lobby for pushing them closer together.

“You say the least sugary things, George,” she said in her breathiest voice. She snuck her arm around George’s waist and pinched his bum.

He leaned back down, and on pretence of kissing her cheek, asked, “What did you see?”

“Rookwood and the Lestrange brothers. They slipped in behind an Auror detail.” Luna raised her voice slightly. “The Nargles just love such old buildings. Did you know they’re the ones that give carved grapes their rounded appearance?” Her eyes flitted to the left and George steered them that way through the crowd.

A collective gasp rippled through the people milling about in the lobby and George turned, keeping Luna in front of him, to see what was going on. He almost howled with glee when he saw his brothers cutting a swath through the bodies between them.

When Charlie got within range, Luna was crushed in their brotherly embrace. That gave them time to pat pockets, transfer wands and wheezes, and still misdirect Rookwood’s henchmen. With the addition of Ron and Ginny, the transfers were complete just in time for the best part of the night’s entertainment.

Severus Snape—dressed in lush black velvet robes trimmed with green runes and silvery Viking dragons—stood at the double-doors of the theatre, Harry Potter to one side and Draco Malfoy to the other. They made a striking tableau: three powerful men, dressed to the nines, and reeking of wealth and status. Draco Malfoy should have been a valet, his fashion sense had been _that_ invaluable.

No one noticed the nondescript man in the plain dress robes who slipped in behind them, or the mousy woman who seemed to shrink into herself as she worked her way around the room. When the first bell sounded, the crowd seemed to shake itself from its stupor and began the shuffle to their seats.

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Soon, all the agents were lost in the crowd. Seeded throughout the audience, even in the cast, witches and wizards surreptitiously brought their wands to the ready.

Severus, Harry, and Draco entered the Malfoy box with as much noise as they could make, drawing everyone’s eyes up and away from the stage. Rookwood glared from his family box, a sneer twisting his face to one side. Severus nodded regally, waving his hand as if _he_ were the most entitled of Purebloods. Harry glowered over everyone’s heads and Draco preened under the attention. No one saw Desmond slinking through the shadows.

As soon as the prologue’s music reached its crescendo, signally the opening of the curtains—and the kettle drums rumbled—a flash of bluish light exploded under Rookwood’s box, stunning his guards and him. There were other flashes—one or two of which were AK green—in the dust raised by the flash-bang spell. It was over in minutes.

Severus swiped at the bleeding graze on his left cheek, his grin thin and feral as he watched Lupin bind Rookwood and Port-key away. In a moment, pops of Apparation were heard all throughout the theatre as the Order escaped.

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**Epilogue**

 

“…never get away with it! The Dark Lord will come back and then we’ll see a new world!” The heavy door slammed and Kingsley Shacklebolt flicked his wand in the locking pattern.

“He’s mad. That’s all there is to it,” he rumbled. Nymphadora Tonks patted her new husband’s arm and tugged him up the hallway. Kingsley grinned, teeth shining in his dark face as he slid her hand into his.

“Never thought we’d catch him, did you, Kings?” Tonks asked. She made her legs longer so they could walk at a faster pace. “All it took was two years and the Order. Won’t the Ministry wonder just how we brought down the last of the powerful Death Eaters?”

As the last door clanged shut behind them, Kingsley looked out across the yard of Azkaban, the roar of the sea muted for once. “I think that we’ve got enough people on our side for the questions to be shuffled off in some secretary’s files, don’t you? The election for the Minister is heating up and this will be the nail in the Reformist platform.”

Tonks shivered and twirled in such a way that she ended up pressed against Kingsley’s chest. “Well, now that that wanker’s put away, I say you take me home finally. I’ve never made love to a Head Auror before.” She grinned, her hair bubble-gum pink as they walked down the dock and toward the boat. She leaned closer, her face gaining a golden tan and her eyes an exotic tilt. “Besides, we haven’t christened the kitchen table yet. It looks _awfully_ sturdy…” She turned and jumped into the boat with a bright laugh.

Shaking his head and grinning, Kingsley followed his bride. “I agree with you. There’s time enough to worry about the world _after_ we christen the table.”

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Remus leaned back at his desk, feet up on the second drawer, arms behind his head as he contemplated the most recent spider web in the Black library window. After waking up in a grave, he’d been mad with grief and loss, searching for Tonks and Severus. That had been three years before, three years of hunting through documents and unsavoury contacts, renewing the life he’d had after Lily and James had died.

Then, one day, Harry’s Patronus cut through his flat’s walls. Suddenly, there was something important to do, and Harry was there! Remus thought back to their first meeting after that, the hugs, the duel—the boy had learned to be vicious in his anger, but Remus hadn’t begrudged him one bit—and then the revelation that Tonks was alive as well. Those things had been nothing compared to the fact that Severus Snape was brewing on the Isle of Man, providing free Wolfsbane of all things!

“I see you’ve reverted to the manners of your youth.”

“Haven’t had any reason to be posh.”

Severus cast a wandless tug that pulled Remus’ feet from their perch and to the floor. “It behooves a hero to be polite. Someone told me that once.” He leaned next to Remus, his formerly bruised hip pressed against the desk. “If you are in need of a reason, I can provide a great many.”

Remus surged up from his chair and grabbed Severus in his arms. “Enough! Enough wordplay, enough dancing around, enough!” he growled just before he slammed their mouths together.

Snape’s arms wrapped around Remus and held on as every bit of longing was passed back and forth. The sun had moved behind the trees and the spider had added an inch in diameter to the web before Remus pulled back with a gasp.

“Gods, I’ve missed you,” he breathed out. “Severus, is it finally good enough? Can we just rest for a bit?” Remus gently stroked Severus’ cheek, avoiding the dashing and still red scar there.

“Lay me down and lift me up, Lupin,” Severus whispered. “I’m ready for a visit to your bedroom, my bedroom, and the spa in Bath. I think we’ve got a generation’s respite, finally.” He kissed Remus’ chin, his tongue darting out to trace a faint curse scar at the corner of Lupin’s lips.

“Will you retire Desmond then?” Severus murmured. “While I don’t care that you are a criminal mastermind, I would rather not worry that your business would take you from my bed. At least not for several decades.” Snape rubbed against Remus like a cat begging to be stroked, purring slightly when blunt fingers plucked at his buttons.

“Desmond is much like the Dread Pirate Roberts, a man of man faces, many beings. My successor was just waiting in the wings.” Remus pressed his nose into the open collar of Snape’s shirt, pushing the material away to draw in a gulp of the man’s enticing scent. “So it’s only Remus Lupin who’ll be in your bed, fucking you, loving you…”

Severus leaned his head to the side, elongating his neck for Remus’ pleasure. “You say the loveliest things, Lupin. Now why don’t you put that silver tongue to better use?” His thin fingers were undoing his own buttons, unwrapping himself like a self-giving gift for Remus.

“Who said Slytherins weren’t generous?” Remus mumbled as he began mouthing his way down the pale skin as it was revealed. He bit off one or two offending buttons that kept him from more of Severus’ collar bones and then helped his lover get naked much quicker; he ripped the outer robe in half in the back with satisfied snarl. “You smell like wool, and potions, and me now…”

Severus closed his eyes to mere slits and let Remus have his way. In all their years together, he’d never once seen the man lose control. He wanted to savour every touch, every nip and nibble…every scraping kiss that his touch-starved skin was blessed with. When Remus latched onto his nipple, sharp teeth worrying it gently to a peak, Severus sighed and wove his fingers into Remus’ unkempt hair to hold him there.

Remus grunted and Severus eased his hold so that his other nipple could be worshiped by that wicked mouth and tongue as well. The shadows grew long and blended together before Severus let the werewolf move farther south….

“You smell like the best sex in all of England, Severus,” Remus mumbled into his y-fronts. He pressed his nose into the creases of Snape’s legs and his groin, sniffing and snuffling happily until Severus tugged on his hair. Remus looked up sheepishly and slipped his hands into the waistband and worked them over Snape’s cock and down his long, nearly hairless legs. He only stopped twice: once, to suck a love-bite into life just above Severus’ left kneecap, and second, to tenderly lave between the toes of his right foot, paying particular attention to a corn between the second and third toes. Severus’ eyelids fluttered each time, fighting to watch _everything_ Lupin was doing.

With Remus at his feet, Severus felt like a king, but he’d rather feel like a man and hauled the werewolf up by his hair. Soon they were fighting like caged tigers over a kill, teeth snapping, fingers clawing at flanks and buttocks and leaving bruises and faint scratches, then….

“That’s it, Lupin! Take it! Open those legs and take everything!” Severus gasped. He was plunging into Lupin’s hot, tight arse over, and over, and over. The desk shook and the books on the shelves fluttered and snapped in time with his thrusts and Remus’ open-mouthed moans. “Always were mine! Mine to take, to please…” Severus leaned down and bit Remus’ lip. He whispered brokenly, “Mine to pleasure!” His hips ricocheted between Lupin’s locked ankles and his arse until his cock could go no further.

“Yes, yes, yesyesyesyes…YES!” Remus shouted as he slid down the other side of the peak. His bluish-amber eyes glinted in the low light of the library as he encouraged Severus, enticed him with rippling inner muscles and come-hither glances. “Come to me, Severus,” he breathed and was rewarded with a rush of warmth and an armful of Snape.

They lay on the desk gasping and laughing, Severus licking and kissing whatever skin he could reach just by turning his head. Remus rolled his hips and wrung the last of Severus’ orgasm from him with an unrepentant smirk. When Severus winced slightly, he desisted and let his lover leave his body.

“While _my_ mattress is quite comfortable, I’m certain you have a bed where both of us could recline at our leisure,” Severus mumbled.

Remus laughed and hugged him, then helped him stand as he slid from the desktop. “A four-poster with silk tie-backs and a never-ending array of other enticements,” he whispered into Severus’ chest. “But for now, I’ll take strong arms and soft words.”

“Then let us explore these soft words,” Severus said with a grin. “It’s your turn to be the one with strong arms.” He bent down to retrieve his torn robes and almost squawked when Remus threw him over his shoulder. “Lupin, this is not what I meant!”

“But your cock says otherwise, so I’m listening to it right now!” 

Severus laughed, a sound the vibrated through Remus and straight to his _other_ head which seemed awfully interested in more of the sound. Remus felt his lover cross his arms against his back. “Fine, fine! Just take care not to trip up the stairs.” 

Remus sneaked a finger up the crack of Severus’ arse and grinned. “Oh, I’ve got precious cargo. I’ll take extremely good care of it…” He trotted through the library doors and up the stairs to their room. He pushed the pad of his finger into Severus’ greedy, grasping hole. “You open that door, love, and I’ll open this one, hey?”

“That’s a lin— _nuh!_ ” Severus’ whole body melted over Remus’ shoulder as his finger pressed past the tight muscle guarding all that delicious heat.

They never did make it to the bed that second time.

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George stood outside the Burrow, his arms around Luna. They watched the family setting off Wizarding fireworks, scaring the garden gnomes and the rabbits. Molly and Arthur were cooing over their newest grandchild and making plans for George’s first if their sly glances were anything to go on.

“I don’t care if they’ve got us married and with three kids, I’m just glad to be here, with you,” he murmured into Luna’s ear. She nodded, her fine hair catching on his day-old beard.

“I wouldn’t mind, George. It would much more exciting than watching Crumple-horned Snorkacks in a china shop.” Luna turned around in George’s arms and kissed his chin. “Look down,” she softly commanded. When he did, she kissed him properly, with tongue and a raised heel.

Soon all the Weasleys were hooting and shouting for joy. Luna Lovegood was going to make an honest man out of George…and she’d done it without resorting to knitting or pranks.

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In the Grimmauld Place kitchen, Harry gasped as Draco kept on showing him another use for kitchen oils. 

They’d heard Remus and Snape, glanced once at each other and retreated to the back of the house, but Draco was a fast learner and knew that if a Gryffindor was good enough for his former Head of House, then how much better could the Saviour of the Wizarding World be for him? 

Malfoy’s grin was pure sex as he looked up from between Harry’s legs. “Care to show me what you’ve learned?” The words were barely out of his mouth when they disappeared from the oily mess they’d made in the kitchen, only to reappear in Harry’s well-warded bedroom...where he proceeded to enlighten Draco on the myriad uses of a wizard’s wand.

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And finally....

In a wizard space beneath a house in Hanover Square, Desmond unrolled a map and pointed, his wizened house-elf face stretched wide in a grin. “We’s going to get rich tonight.”

§¤§¤*§*¤§¤§ 

_~~~ Comments, like rain in the desert, are greatly appreciated.  
Thank you for reading. ~~~_


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